Free Kaleidocide by Dave Swavely Page B

mean before Terrey came.”
    â€œStop,” she said, blushing. She didn’t like any talk about sex in public, especially ours, but I always thought she was too prudish.
    â€œCome on,” I jabbed at her while I headed toward the bedroom door. “You didn’t have a problem laughing at Min a minute ago.”
    â€œâ€™Cause that wasn’t about me.” Right. At least she was honest.
    I grabbed the glasses quickly, then returned to the big room.
    â€œYou asked me for my opinion, sir,” Min continued. “Would you mind if I added one more thought?”
    â€œAbsolutely, Min. You don’t need to be so humble about it.”
    â€œI would suggest talking to Mr. Rabin before you make a final decision.”
    This reminded me that my personal “eunuch” had belonged to the king who ruled before me, and he was still keen on advancing his interests, even posthumously. But I thought it was a good idea, because this was the reason Saul’s wisdom and experience had been downloaded from his brain before he died, into his Legacy Project.
    â€œTell Terrey we haven’t made a decision yet,” I said to Min, “but that he can bring the triplets here, on the condition that he lets you talk with them on the way. Or interface, or intercourse, or whatever you cyborgs do. I’ll make a few calls and then give him our answer.”
    Min nodded and left the room. Lynn said, “I’m gonna take a shower” and did the same. I slipped the glasses on and saw that I had indeed missed a call from Stan Glenn’s direct line, a rare and important enough phenomenon that I needed to call him back, even under the circumstances, though I reminded myself not to talk too long. I kept the glasses on so that my side would be audio only, since I expected to be on the defensive and didn’t want my face to give away any lies I had to tell. He must not have had any such concern, because he answered with full video from his chest up.
    He wore his trademark white sweater, which as always made the darkness of his skin more pronounced. I had wondered many times if he did that intentionally, like a megaphone announcement of his blackness, but had also always been afraid to ask him, because I was generally happy with our relationship and didn’t want to endanger it in any way. He had been a professional athlete in the same sport as Darien Anthony, my late friend and associate, and had known and liked D. I think we developed a connection because of that, and because of our shared sympathy for what had happened to our mutual friend. Which was a good thing for both of us, because Stan was arguably the most influential government official in our neighboring country, the American Confederation. His office was a combination of the historic ones of secretary of state and minister of foreign affairs, charged with conducting all the interaction with other governments on behalf of the American people. And in today’s global economy, that role may have given him as much power as the president herself, if not more. The health of nations depended more than ever on their relationship with others, and that was especially true of the decentralizing and destabilized AC, which had both lost the Bay Area and annexed Mexico in recent years. So as one news site had posted, referring to his characteristic appearance, Stanford Glenn represented “the great black and white hope for America’s reputation in the world.”
    The fact that Stan was content to appear on video while I was only audio was a good sign for me. It suggested that his censure would have few teeth—as did his opening greeting.
    â€œYou know I had to make this call,” he said.
    â€œWhy?” I responded, like an innocent lamb.
    â€œWe’ve had reports that BASS conducted some kind of military or police action on American soil … again.” Occasionally we had to do something in the East Bay, but it